


Monster

by Adry1412



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating!Rick, Crooked Cop!Rick, F/M, Implied Pedophilic Interests, M/M, Murder, North Dakota, Not Actual Pedophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rickyl, Rough Sex, Secret Lover!Daryl, Twin Peaks/Fargo/X-File esque type story, bottom!daryl, kind if unhealthy relationship, top!rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adry1412/pseuds/Adry1412
Summary: In a small, North Dakota town people start dying. Scumbags, mainly, who spend their nights away from their wives and at dirty truck stops picking up prostitutes. Now this, to Deputy Rick Grimes, is unacceptable.But Rick won't admit he's as bad as the men he kills and makes sure to keep his wife and son away from danger, and his lover, Daryl, even further. But what happens when Rick kills the wrong man?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I'm posting the first two chapters of this fic because I absolutely need feedback! I'm working on the 3rd chapter at the moment but need to know if you guys like it so far! Thank you!!  
> \---  
> !!!WARNING!!! This fic includes aggressive sex/borderline abusive situation/graphic violence/bad treatment of prostitutes/murder/diragitory language/etc. This fic is fucked up! Sorry!!

Heavy boots crunch through the snow, cracking and echoing in the isolated woods that surround him. Flurries fall around his face, stinging his nose while the usually hole punched night sky is covered in grey clouds and tall, pitch black trees. He ignores the harsh wind, wiping his face with a gloved hand and heading towards the cabin.  
It's all he can see. The chimney smoking and a dull, yellow glow spilling from the front windows. It's stark, the bright windows against the late winter night their town is covered in, smothered yet empty in the all consuming darkness. His breath is puffy and white as he huffs, baring weight onto his bruised ribs with his free hand. Just a few more yards and he'll be safe. He could shed his sheriff uniform and relax beside a warm fire.  
The door opens before he reaches it, the thin mousey man staring wide eyed at him, wrapped in a throw blanket and bare feet. He smirks, watching the flustered man try to make sense of the view in front of him while the cop is imaging all the filthy things he could do to that agape mouth.

"Oh my god, Rick.. You're covered in blood!"

\---  
Not much happens in their small North Dakota town.  
A few hundred people who spend their weekends walking along the one main street, littered with store fronts and cozy atmospheres that make the residents forget the near frigid temperatures and snow covered ground. It's peaceful, dull even, yet it's all Rick's known. Born and raised and now patrolling the only county he's ever been too.  
It's the kind of town where no one locks their doors and everyone says good morning as you pass by. Everyone knows one another and everyone is friendly. Nothing bad happens here. Nothing bad ever happened here. Well...

The church bell rings out as the people walk out in a huddled mess, thanking the pastor and walking along the icy pavement. Old women and their families walk around in their Sunday's best as they debate where to go to breakfast. Rick stands to the side in his long, warm wool jacket and watches his wife and son as they speak to the pastor, their breaths showing in the early morning frost.  
Lori. Sweet, gentle Lori. If she had any idea what Rick did on those long, cold nights her poor heart would shatter. She would lay down and cry the afternoon away quietly. White wine would spill on their pristine carpet, chasing her tears as she wallowed and whined around the house. She'd make herself the victim, drown herself in pity and call everyone she knew so they would know how much she has suffered and how deserving she was of their casseroles and weak smiles.  
And Carl. Young, naive Carl. He's still a boy, holding onto his mom's hand and trying to keep his yawns hidden in the early morning sun. He wouldn't know what to do if his tiny world suddenly uprooted. If Rick showed up with blood stained clothes, Carl would book it in the other direction to cry under his race car decorated bed. The kid is sweet though and Rick would hate to break his heart.

"You ready to go, Rick?"  
Lori looks at him expectingly, thin cheekbones flushed red in the cold. She has this way about her, this sugar sweet way of telling him he's no good. With her lips pursed in disappointment at his momentary lapse of reality and eyes piercing through his daydream. God forbid he wasn't perfect at every hour of the day they way she deemed herself. God forbid he took a moment for himself without worrying what any of the little ants that inhabited the town thought of him. He just nods, smiling and starting across the street to the little diner.

It's crowded, almost every seat taken with good, church going patrons who want some scrambled eggs and toast after the hour long mass. The gentle patter of multiple conversations grate on Rick's nerves and he grinds his teeth to relieve the tension. If only he could jump up and scream, pull his gun from his waistband and-  
"That's so disgusting."  
Lori snaps him from his daydream, her eyes fixed behind him and when he looks around, everybody is staring. He squirms, nervous he may have done something to warrant the attention but no. They're not looking at him but at the tv behind him.

"North Dakota state troopers have finally located the body of local butcher, Gareth Carney. Carney, who was reported missing last week by his mother, has been located by state troopers off of interstate 29 in an overgrown ditch.  
We report now with his mother, Mary."

Rick turns away as the camera tune into a weeping older woman, her face red and streaked with tears. Another man stands next to her, his hand on her shoulder as tears falls onto his own face. Gareth's brother, he guesses.  
He had heard about his brother, Alex, from Gareth. How the younger man was kind of a "stoner" and seemed to have no life path. He didn't want to continue the family butcher business but didn't seem to have any interests other than smoking all day and watching tv.  
Rick hides his smirk behind his napkin. Sometimes he wonders if maybe he should have killed Alex instead. But hey, Alex wasn't nearly as dangerous as Gareth.

"Can you believe that Rick?" Lori asks, lips pressed in a thin line as she rubs at Carl's hand. He stares at them, seeing the distress in his wife's face and almost finding it comedic.  
"It's a pity."  
"I'd say! If something happened to Carl, I-I....I don't think I could continue living." She shakes her head, long brown hair bouncing in it's perfectly styled waves. "I don't know how that woman can do it. Poor thing."  
"I don't know either." Rick bullshits and his lies sound fake even to his own ears. His tongue burns in that sickening feeling as his false emotions pass over it. The rest of the diner continues in its motions, the customers going back to eating with paler faces as they discussed the news they have all heard. Gareth was from the next town over. The border may be separated by a train track but in all honesty, no one noticed the worn out barrier between the two perfect little mountain towns. Everyone was so friendly. So goddamn friendly..

Truth be told, he couldn't care less. Gareth was a bad person. On the books he was nice enough, a good butcher and sweet to his mother but Rick knew the truth. He'd followed the man before, following behind in his pick up truck as the young man drove out of town. Way, way out of town to a lonely truck stop about 25 miles north to pick up hookers. Men, women, even young girls who barely seemed legal, it didn't matter to Gareth. Rick had watched as he walked them behind the building, into the dingy bathrooms where they did god knows what before the "sweet, trustworthy" butcher would come stumbling out, zipping his pants in a disgusting display of sin.

Rick drags the fork across his plate, the sound resonating in his bones and crawling at his ears. It's rustic, bloodcurdling and annoying, but he doesn't care. His skin is on fire and he feels his veins burn. The dull ache in his head is back, throbbing quietly at his temples and he wants to rub them. It's that feeling again, that beast that lays behind his teeth. He needs to see Daryl.

"Are you finished here?"  
Rick takes a harsh breath, turning towards the waiter, Glenn, with his hand extended.  
"Yeah, thank you, Glenn."  
Rick fakes a smile for what seems like the millionth time that day as the young Asian man takes his plate away. He'd had his doubts about the boy, spending long nights following Glenn's small, white, Camry; trying to find some dirt on the cherubic guy. He'd come up empty, his anger spiking hard at not being able to tear his fingers into the man's organs like he had wanted too. Glenn was too perfect, sweet and kind and patience towards his farmer's daughters girlfriend, Maggie, saving money for their upcoming marriage and not seeming to push for more before their wedding night. The worst the kid had ever done was run a stop sign so late at night it wouldn't have posed any threat.

Fuck. Rick really needs to see Daryl now.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fuck! Rick!"

He had Daryl against the wall, thrusting hard into that all encompassing heat as he growled low and deep. The man's legs were wrapped around his waist, his hips held in vice grips as Rick pounded into him, pushing, pushing, pushing so hard he was amazed the wall didn't crack. A picture frame fell off the wall to their right, Rick watching Daryl's bruised throat as he gasped at the sound of breaking glass. He didn't care, he didn't fucking care about that goddamn picture. He needed more, more, more.  
With inhuman strength he turned and threw Daryl onto the floor, not caring when the man hit the hard wood with a rough thud, his thin hand coming down to grasp between his legs where Rick had just been, gasping at the sudden emptiness. Rick jerked his cock fast, his eyes dark as he watched Daryl on the floor, those baby blues wide and wet as they looked up at the sheriff. He was naked except for a pair of knee high socks, worn per Rick's request, and his body decorated with bruises and small cuts from the vicious way Rick took him. He looked helpless, his eyes torn between looking scared and looking aroused.  
Rick didn't wait for his mind to decide, falling to his knees and flipping Daryl as if he didn't weigh a thing.  
Shoving the man's head down, he kept his thigh in a tight grip, forcing his ass into the air as he shoved himself back inside. Daryl choked out a sob, hands clawing at the ground even as he backed his trembling hips back onto Rick's length. The sheriff didn't care though, his anger having boiled to the point of no return as he continued to drive himself into the smaller man, his movements becoming erratic as his vision went blurry. And his climax quickly approached. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

\---  
"Are you alright, Rick?"

Daryl glanced at Rick wearily, his knees near his chest as he seemed to curl over the arm rest, protected only by his thin, light pink colored robe. Rick let the cigarette smoke flow from his nose, his head resting against the back of ugly, beige and floral couch. He sat with his legs spread, cock soft between his thighs and button down shirt open. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"  
Daryl shrugged, one hand coming up to rub at his hickey covered neck awkwardly. "I don't know. You seem.. unhinged. You were rougher than usual today."

Rick just huffs. Daryl was truly something. The man seemed to know exactly what Rick needed and had never denied any of his requests, no matter how much it may have hurt him or how ridiculous. Hell, he was still wearing those damn socks simply because Rick told him too. He wasn't sure if Daryl's loyalty was because the younger man was afraid of him or if he truly was as "in love" with the sheriff as he claimed. Or maybe the brown haired man was some kind of idiot. He must've been, no other person being dumb enough to allow Rick to treat them the way he did and still smile whenever he decided to show up at their door.

And fuck, it wasn't even supposed to be like this! When Rick had pulled up to that seedy truck stop, python and carving knife in his back pockets, he had been on the look out for a man named Philip. After weeks of following the real estate snake, he had finally decided enough was enough. His plan had been concrete, nothing could have gone wrong.  
Except it did. When Rick entered the disgusting bathrooms, he knew he'd find Philip attempting to pick up yet another hooker; probably someone young and fresh, as was his MO. Rick knew Philip was a monster, sick in the head and obsessed with cheap entertainment and easy tramps. But Rick didn't expect to walk in as Philip was in the middle of beating a young, mousey haired man. This wasn't part of the plan! Philip never beat his whores, just used them and ran away with his money, tossing them aside with their pockets empty and faces flushed with shame.  
He had snapped in that moment. Driving his fists into the smug realtor's face until he stopped breathing. The prostitute didn't scream, didn't leave, didn't even flinch. He just stood and watched from his spot on the wall, through tear soaked eyes, as the sheriff murdered that man who had hurt him before whispering a quiet "Do you need any help?"

Maybe that's why he hadn't killed Daryl as well like he did to anybody who may or may not have witnessed his own righteous crimes. Maybe that's why he shoved the young boy into the stall and bent him over the filthy toilet. Maybe that's why he hit the pimp with his car, knowing no one would call in the hit-and-run until late the next morning, before taking Daryl with him. While Philip spent the next two days headless in a ditch under a parkway underpass, Rick went on to use the agent's tainted money to buy the obviously abused boy his own cabin in the woods. And honestly, Rick though, it must have been a sign because who in their right mind walked around disgusting truck stops with multiple grands in his wallet?   
So the cash paid cabin is where Daryl stayed. Spending his days with his nose in miscellaneous books and journals while Rick paid the cabin's expenses and brought groceries to his secret lover every other week. He never went to town, was never required to go to church or go shopping the way Rick was. He just stayed in his secluded home, ready to pleasure Rick whenever he was called upon. Daryl wasn't hard to please, unlike Rick.

"Sorry, darling. Just got a lot on my mind."

Daryl was quiet for a moment, Rick feeling his young lover's eyes on him as he flicked the slowly shouldering cigarette into the ashtray, inhaling deep and letting the smoke fall out of his mouth like air. He wondered what Daryl was thinking about, what the ex-whore had to say next. He'd never tell Rick to go, far too entranced with the sheriff and the safety his presence brought to ask the man to leave. He whispers quietly, just loud enough for Rick to hear and to shirk, understanding the meaning through with his sex hoarse voice.  
"Do you need help?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATES!!!  
> Please, for the love of all that is holy.....mind the new tag updates and archive warning. This fic is fucked up. Don't say I didn't warn you. Anyway.........here goes nothing!
> 
> I promise to update sooner! I have chapter 4 outlined and I will write more soon!  
> I just got my drivers license so I'm sorry for my absence lol been testing out the new license lol!

Though Rick hated to admit it, this was how it had to be.  
To take, you have to give first. Gotta work before you can reap the benefits. Gotta let your secret lover get picked up before you can shoot the John in the back of his ugly, burnt skull.

The John in this case was an unassuming middle class man who used to work for some gym coach a few towns over. Dwight was his name, an ugly motherfucker if Rick had ever seen one before. Half his face was mangled and scarred, the result of a firework show gone wrong. The regional high school would raise money to put on a firework show every summer for Fourth of July, the constant banging and whistles of the explosives ringing right through Rick's ears til he snapped and spent the nights with a bottle of Jack in his basement office.  
The newspapers said there was a malfunction and poor, indistinguishable Dwight got the short end of the stick in the end. Taking a handful of fireworks to the face can truly damage a man for life if the conditions are just right. Poor ol' Dwighty Boy. Lost his damn mind afterwards.  
Where once he may have been a reputable gym coach for the baseball team, he was nothing now but a backwoods looking asshole with no luck left in the bag. Near constant 5 o'clock shadow, clothes stained in booze and god knows what, and those cold chapped lips in a permanent gape. He oozed sleaze and Rick had had enough of this monster on the North Dakota highways.  
Rick would've taken pity on the man who's wife left him and turned to drugs to cope with her lose, but he deserved nothing. Not with the way he was leering at Daryl with those sunken, sickening eyes.

Rick watches from his car, stiff lips smirking at bit as the sugar, sweet way Daryl is trying to lore Dwight in their little trap. He hates having to get Daryl involved but sometimes the boy needed to earn his keep and get his hands a little dirty. As much as his mouser lover would've loved to just stay home, reading whatever book Rick picked up for him from the grocery store next to the canned peaches and peas, he had to go out once in a while. Plus, some cold midnight air was good for his dust filled lungs. And after searching through the crooked ex-coach's computer and following him from snow covered town to snow covered town, it seemed that Dwighty Boy had a very specific MO now.  
See, Dwight liked his boys young, real young. He liked the cherry apple coloring of their fresh cheeks and lips, the teary eyes of a lost teen who just needed a ride to the next town over and maybe a meal for their shrunken bellies. He liked his boys helpless and cute.  
And that's where Daryl came in handy.

Daryl was young, too young for Rick if he was being honest but the tender 20-something year old was hardened by a life that would've killed most and crippled the others. A few snacks to his face and his lips and cheeks flushed in the way that was sure to have made Dwight's mouth water. A day or two of being ordered not to eat made Daryl's already thin tummy even flatter, the constant growling adding to the affect. His face was already cute, his shaggy hair adding to the picture with all the perfect details that made the image whole. Rick had made Dwight's dreams come true and now Daryl just had to do his part. Just ask the dirty (and god was he dirty) blond man for some cash and offer a "favor" in return.

Rick smirks and palms over his aching cock, feeling it swell at the way Daryl slinked over to the smoking man. The boy was in his element, looking up at his John with pleading eyes and tilting his head in an almost innocent way that Rick was sure could entice even the most hardened of men. Daryl'd done this before, begging for some cash with nothing but his pure sex appeal and tight body as a barter. It still put the cop's teeth on edge to imagine all the men who had used Daryl before him, each one taking what they wanted and handing the boy a few bucks as thanks. If Daryl had had any regulars, Rick was sure they'd all be dead now. Laying in some ditch for what they did to his sensual sweetheart.  
Daryl was a whore. There was no way around that fact and as much as Rick wanted to ring his slender neck, that had taken who knows how many men's filthy cocks, he couldn't possible hurt the doe eyed beauty. There weren't going to be a whole lot of chances in life to meet a man who did whatever you wanted without hesitation simply because you "saved them", as Daryl would say.  
Fuck he was hard now. He shimmies in his seat, freeing his heated cock from his jeans and stroking himself over at the sight in front of him. Dwight's smile said all Rick needed to know. This was going to work. And goddamn if that didn't make his blood run south and belly ache in arousal.

\---  
"You say you're lost?"

"Mhm. I just need a few dollars, enough to catch the bus."

"And where is it that you're heading, sweetheart?" Dwight got closer to Daryl, putting an careful hand on the boy's waist and using his thumb to trace small circles on his hips. He felt the bone, the skin stretched over it giving to his touch. He'd almost swallowed his tongue when the cute, shivering boy, in nothing but jeans and a light sweater approached him, wringing his hands and offering a small 'hello' and a sweet smile. "How old you'd say you were again?"

"16, sir. And I'm heading south. To South Dakota." Daryl felt like his insides were clawing their way up, his stomach lurching at the rotten smell coming off Dwight's teeth and mouth. He was so gross, his touch making Daryl's skin crawl and his whole body itch as if bugs were running around and biting. "I just need a few dollars but I, umm, I'm open to working for it."

"16? Wow, you're a little young to be out here all on your own." Dwight sneered, every yellow tooth on display as he got even closer to Daryl, tugging him against his body by his belt loops. "Now what would you have done if someone real bad got to you before I did? Huh? What would you have done, sweet thing?"

Daryl smiled despite himself, holding back vomit as the man began to nibble his ear, whispering in a nauseating way against his hair. "I guess it's a good thing I saw you first then, huh, sir? Some folks aren't nearly as nice as you are."

The man smiled, pulling Daryl towards the wall and slipping his hand downward, groping harshly at the boy's ass. "That's right, I am nice. Nice enough to give you a few bucks if you're willing to do a little something for me."

"Yes, sir. I'll do anything."

"Yeah? Anything? Cause you know, I've been real lonely lately. Been needing a sweet little thing like you to bring home."

Daryl balked at Dwight's insinuations, glad the man was too busy attacking his neck with his lips and tongue to notice his face. He stares outward at Rick's car, knowing his lover was keeping a close eye out to make sure this wouldn't go to far. He knew Rick would step on if Dwight tried any funny busy.

He gasps loud when those dirty teeth bite down hard, sending a shooting pain through his neck as those skeletal hands squeeze his ass, pulling his cheeks apart as much as the jeans would allow before massaging them again. He doesn't get the chance to recover, his body being forced around the side of the building backwards, by his hips, and into the filthy bathroom stalls, the lock having been long broken and swinging freely in the breeze.  
He's pushed again the wall, his back colliding hard with the cold tiles, the sting seeping through his thin layer and freezing his skin. The mouth is back on him, this time with that sickly tongue being forced down his throat and making him choke. He squeezed his eyes shut, glad that they were finally in the bathroom and soon Rick was going to come through that door to save him. Yeah, Rick would save him just like he had a few years back. He'd kick down the door, pistol drawn and aimed at the matted blond locks of hair that seemed to covered Daryl's vision.  
Rick was going to save him soon so Daryl relaxed and allowed the man to have his moment, allowed him to stab his repulsive tongue in and out of Daryl's slack mouth. Hell, the monster was going to die soon, might as well let him get a few kicks before then.  
Rick was going to save him soon. Any minute now. He just had to wait a little. Just a bit longer. Any minute-

Daryl's eyes snapped open as Dwight turned him, flipping him over the moldy, stained sink and pushing his face into the mirror. He stares past his reflection, watching as the man licked his lips and undid his belt, the all too familiar clanking of metal sounding his ears. "Just gotta do something for me, darling. Then you'll get you're bus money ok?"  
The man smirked and Daryl felt sick, trembling hands trying to push himself up before he was shoved back down. "No, no, sweetheart. Just relax, ok? I'll take care of you." The panic set in, his breathing becoming erratic as the ex-coach pulled his pants down, draping his body over Daryl's and rutting against him. "Should've brought lube with me but," he giggled, the sound scrapping against Daryl's ears as he tried to squirm away, "how was I to know a sexy little thing like you was going to be coming by?"

"Pl-please, sir. D-Don't..."

"Hush now, little one. I've got you." Dwight pushed onto Daryl's shoulders, holding him down and spitting into his hand. "That should do it."

\---  
Rick bites his lip as he comes, thighs trembling with the force of his orgasm. "Goddamn." He hadn't meant to jerk off but the innocent way Daryl put himself on display was too much. And as disgusting as Dwight was, when he tugged Daryl close it resembled those horrid pornos that Rick hated to admit he adored. He reached into the glove compartment, grabbing a few napkins to clean himself off before tucking himself back in, fixing his hair in the mirror and looking back out to see how Daryl was doing.

Daryl.

"Fuck!" Rick jumped into action, all but falling out of the car as he stuffed his pistol into the back of his pants and sprinting towards the building. Daryl was gone! They must've gone to the bathroom but Jesus Christ how long was he gone? How long had that creep been in their with him? "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Yeah, you like that don't you, you little whore. You and tight fucking-"

BAM! The door slammed hard against the wall before its hinges finally gave out and it landed with a thunderous sound. It echoed in the airy bathroom and through the silent parking lot as Dwight jumped out of his skin and out of Daryl.

"What the fu-"

Dwight didn't get the fucking chance to scream, probably didn't even know what was happening before a bullet was lodged between his sunken eyes. The sound drowned any remaining echo of the door, silencing the entire world between the three men with nothing but a white cloud to show it had even ever happened. Dwight fell hard, body as limp as Daryl's as the boy sank to his knees beside the sink.

The only sound was Rick's heavy breaths, huffing out of strained lungs in the air open of the bathroom, the floor painted in red steam as Dwight laid dead on the dirty tiles. The world was so silent, not a damn sound as the sheriff and his lover stared at each other. A million and one thoughts flashed between the two sets of blue eyes, not a single one sticking as they sucked in hefty breaths and tried to collect themselves.

It had not meant to go like this, is what Rick thinks as he tries to make his mouth work. It shouldn't have gone this far, no, it shouldn't have. Dwight should have suffered a bit, should've known why Rick had come to get him instead of dying without a single ounce of regret or idea in his now shattered skull. Daryl shouldn't be on the floor, pants around his knees and tears streaking his frost bitten face. He shouldn't have been hurt. Fuck. Rick fucked up this time.

"Daryl-"

"Where were you?!" Daryl shouts, making Rick flinch as those tear soaked eyes are rubbed violently by shaking hands. They look so fragile, so small and off colored against the paleness of Daryl's face. "Where the fuck were you, Rick?!" He stands, trembling as he pulls his jeans back up and points an accusing finger not the face of the man who had spent the better part of 5 years protecting him.

"I-I got distracted." Rick mumbles, feeling a sickening feeling in his gut and not recognizing it. It made him want to duck his head, face feeling flushed and his stomach swimming in a soup of unease. Was this guilt? Was Rick feeling guilty for what he had allowed to happen to Daryl? No. That's couldn't be it. "It was too quick. You were supposed to talk to him longer." Daryl balked at him, thin face contorting in disgust as he eyed Rick. "Let's just get out of here, okay Daryl? We gotta get rid of him."  
Rick felt relief when the boy's mouth shut, that sicky feeling getting easier to deal with when he realized he wouldn't have to hear whatever it was Daryl was going to say.  
If only he could keep Daryl's mouth shut forever. If only Daryl didn't notice the dirty tissues in his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill! ;D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small chapter to further the plot kind of lol!
> 
> It'll be a bit til I update again, because I am slow at writing and the next few chapters will be the main meat of the story so bear with me!
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for reading my fic and commenting. It means the world to me that y'all are so willing to read my dumb, sick shit. Thank you thank you thank you!! Muah!!

Screaming, screaming, screaming.  
It seemed like Rick's entire life was filled with the high pitched accusations being screamed into his right ear as he drove Dwight over the empty highway guard rail into the river and Daryl home. He grit his teeth and dug his fingers into the steering wheel until the white color seemed to glow in the dark car cabin.  
Daryl kept screaming. His face was a horrid mix of damp, angry eyes and trembling lips as they drove. He was angry. Of course he was angry! Rick hadn't been there. He had jerked off instead of sticking to their plan. He put Daryl in danger. He fucked up.

Shouts continued to assault Rick's ears, making the right one ring from the near constant abuse Daryl was throwing at it. His chest is tight and stomach turning nauseously with every word his lover croaked out of his straining throat. "How could you?" "Why would you?" "You weren't paying attention!" "I can't believe you!" "He raped me, Rick! Don't you care?"  
Of course Rick cared! He didn't want anyone touching his lover! Especially not that sleazy fucker, Dwight. Now Daryl was dirty again, his body nothing more than a cock sleeve for that disgusting, blond pedophile. It reminded him of all the whores that stood outside of those truck, smoking thin cigarettes and trying to pick up a John before the sunrise. All the whores who starred in the secret DVDs in Blockbuster's backroom with vacant eyes and spread legs.  
Daryl still had that look. His eyes distant and glassy no matter his mood and further when his wine glass dipped low.

"I do care, Daryl! I care a lot okay! I just don't understand how you let him fuck you so easily!"

He should've not have said that. Fuck. He really should not have said that.Rick waited for the explosion, for what the brunette's eyes promised as either a new wave of eye piercing screams or a fist to his jaw.  
But it never came. Daryl's mouth hung wide open before it snapped up, the boy huffing out a breath before turning to the window.

\---  
"Fuck!" Fine! If Daryl wanted to leave so be it. The man had been more of a nuisance than anything else. Rick had done nothing but sink money into Daryl and the man wasn't pulling his weight. Feeding him, keeping him entertained, paying for the cabin, the heat, the water, everything! And after everything Daryl had the audacity to spit in his face.  
He should've killed him years ago. Ditched the body right next to Philip and have been done with it but no. Rick took pity. He bent the boy over that disgusting public toilet and taken him into his car with cum leaking down the back of Daryl's thighs.

"Should've snapped his scrawny fucking neck." Rick huffs as he leaves the cabin, slamming the door and stepping into knee deep fresh snow and boiling from the inside as his anger rose. "Kick me out of my own damn cabin. You hear me?! Who fucking pays for it, you alcoholic son of a bitch!" He shouts back towards the shack, not caring if Daryl hears of not. Let him hear. Let him know exactly what Rick felt and what his mind tells him to do.  
"I'll break your fucking neck! Kick your whore teeth in and make you swallow them!" He almost adds the second part, the part about how it won't be the first time Daryl has swallowed something nasty but he doesn't. He damn near rips his cars door off and he hops in and screeches away, nothing but flurries and red blurring his vision.  
He needs to hurt something. Rip into something helpless and watch the blankness fill their eyes as their organs steamed in the frigid, mountain air. It seems like his next man was getting visited a little early. Sorry scumbag.

\---  
The couch was stained with wine but he didn't care. He didn't care if the splotch of cheap, blood red pinot noir smeared against the dull beige of the furniture. He lets another tear roll down his cheek and wipes it with a shaking hand, bringing his bath robe up over his shoulder from where it had fallen. Rick's words hang in the air still, turning the once calming cabin into a place of torment. The walls seem askew, bathed in sickening green with the heartless statements that his, now ex, lover had shouted.  
He drinks more, lowering his head to the armrest and allowing himself to cry. He wants to leave, take the few dollars he has and run far, far away from the winter soaked town he's stuck in. The wine helps, calms his frayed nerves and makes his head spin. He shouldn't drink so much, should try to call Rick's burner phone and apologize but he can't. Not with the bile in his throat every time he thinks of the man who let him down.  
Rick was his savior, his knight in shining armor. It didn't matter if his protective attire was mudded with scraps and burns, the black edges reaching up and threatening to crowd out all the pure silver that had once been all Daryl could see. The man saved him. Held his hand and took him away from the horrid world he walked.

It had been obvious to Rick, before Daryl even told him the truth. The man's blue eyes could see past his walls, could see the years of abuse Daryl held inside of him and he never once shunned him for it. Rick had seen the years of isolation, the time spent in a crib crying out for attention and receiving nothing. When he was small and crawled towards his empty eyed parents in hope of a hug or even an acknowledgment of his existence only to be let down with a hard shove or cigarette to his tiny forearms. Rick saw when his father's eyes turned dark, twisted in the death of his mother and pointed towards Daryl's body instead of his face. The comments still rang through his head in a shameful admittance. "You look just like your mother." Rick saw the glasses of wine forced down his tiny throat, stinging slightly in its bitter taste as it fuzzies his mind and numbed his face. The scorching kisses didn't burn as much with the alcohol, his legs falling apart easier with the gulp, gulp, gulps from the cup held to his stained lips.  
Rick didn't mind when his teeth were painted red or when his head lolled to the side, the room spinning only in front of his eyes. The cop accepted the recycle bin filled with bottles. He didn't even blinking when Daryl poured heavy and swallowed fast, racing towards that bittersweet line between reckless and just numb enough to accept wicked hands as acts of affections. He didn't mind.

The wine helps. Even if he has to grind his teeth to swallow the putrid taste. He hates how it hides his painful nights spent in his father's bed with nothing but a throbbing pain and eager acceptance of the old man's affection with it's sickening, rotten flavor. It gets swallowed along side the memories of leaving home, hitching a ride out of town from the gap toothed man who had seemed so unassuming yet held wickedness in his veins. "No." He whispers, wiping his tears and feeling the nausea build. "He paid me. I.. I wanted it."  
Rick was meant to save him. Rick had saved him from the cruel real estate tycoon and had asked him, while using Daryl's body, if it had been okay to do so. A little late was all Daryl had thought before choking back sobs at being asked, for the first time in his life, if it was okay to use him. Rick had asked. Rick had asked.

"Rick.." He drifts to sleep, wine glass spilling from his limp hand and breaking against the hard wood floor. He sighs and presses his face into the cushions, ignoring the mess he'll have to clean when his head aches and his mouth sticks with sick. It's not the first glass he's broke nor will it be the last. Those dollar store glasses aren't supposed to be held in trembling, clumsy hands.  
He cries quietly, letting himself drown beneath the waves that have always threatened to pull him under. The water may stink of rotten grapes and obscure his vision with a veil of blood red but it's worth it. When his body sinks, his head swims and he can be assured a few hours of heavy sleep, his brain to dizzy to even consider fabricating dreams. Or, more likely, nightmares. He just needed a few hours. Then he'll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please lemme know what you think!! Thank you!!


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